Crash and Burn
by NeverWonder
Summary: He realizes that he can't handle losing her because he's not as awesome alone.


**A/N:** I write almost exclusively Finchel, but suddenly my Quick muse started screaming at me. I'm used to writing from Finn's perspective, so this was much more difficult for me. I guess you can call this Puckternal to some extent.

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><p><em>i.<em>

One minute he was standing next to Finn, watching him marry Rachel, and the next he could see Coach Sylvester standing up, white as sheet and shaking; not two minutes after the justice of the peace announced that they were married, Coach Sylvester's phone went off, and he got the feeling that something was terribly wrong. She was Quinn's emergency contact, had been since they were sophomores. It had kind of pissed him off when Finn and Rachel stopped waiting on Quinn, even though he realized that they had to get hitched immediately or lose their spot, but that wasn't what kept him shifting in his seat; Quinn was never late for anything, and she sure as hell wouldn't be late to something as big as this. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, and then Coach S got that phone call; something deep down told him that the call was about Quinn.

"I hate to break up this shindig just when it's becoming disgustingly sweet enough to rot all my teeth out, but there's been an accident." Puck could see Rachel reaching for Finn's hand. "It seems that Quinn was heading through an intersection when a truck—"

Puck didn't hear another word that was said because he was too busy running out of the courthouse; he knew where they'd take Quinn if she were hurt, and that was exactly where he was going. Lima General was quick drive if he kept his foot on the floorboard, and he wasn't planning to let up until he got there. Ignoring everything else, he just kept his eyes on the road, his thoughts occupied by Quinn and things he wanted to say to her. A part of him took responsibility for abandoning her when she needed him most because she wouldn't put out anymore; he'd tossed her aside and moved on to other women who would give him what he thought he wanted. Maybe it was his fault for letting her play around with Evans and then Finn knowing she was struggling and screwed up, but what was he supposed to do about it? When she came back to school bat shit crazy with pink hair and that stupid tattoo on her back he knew that wasn't his Quinn; she was stranger in Quinn's body, and he sort of blamed himself for it. He'd knocked her up, and it had left her fucked up; he knew her mom drank a lot, and that she wasn't exactly the greatest parent in the world. She didn't have anyone to lean on, and so she fell apart.

By the time he got to the hospital all he could think about was the fact that Quinn might be hurt badly enough that he might never get to tell her how sorry he was for fucking her up like that; she'd been so excited about her scholarship to Yale, and she'd been practically glowing standing there in front of them singing. She was better than she had been since he got her pregnant, and now she could be hurt or worse; it wasn't fair. He nearly slammed into her mom in the waiting room, and he could smell the booze on her; the woman had obviously been drinking again, and Puck couldn't help but think that part of Quinn's problem was her crazy ass drunk mom.

"How is she?" But Mrs. Fabray, or maybe that wasn't her last name anymore, wasn't much help, and all he could get were the words car accident, driver's side, cell phone, and bleeding. "Whoa, slow down."

But she didn't slow down; she just kept babbling, and all he could get out of it was that Quinn's car was pretty much t-boned in the driver's side and that she was hurt badly enough that the doctors suspected internal bleeding. He wasn't sure what was worse, that Quinn was hurt or that he couldn't get in to see her because the doctors wouldn't believe his lie about being her fiancé; he was trapped in the waiting room with her mom, pacing back and forth while they waited for news. Time seemed to slow down, creeping by second by second, and he kept waiting for something to happen; the doctors said that she seemed stable when they took her in for surgery and that she seemed to be fighting like she wanted to live. That was a good sign, and he silently begged her to keep fighting.

It didn't take long for the others to start showing up, each wearing an expression of fear and panic; Rachel kept burying her head in Finn's chest, sobbing softly and whispering that it was all her fault because she'd been texting Quinn at the time of the accident, while Finn rubbed her back, and Santana's eyes were rimmed with red like she'd been crying, while Brittany looked confusedly between her girlfriend, Mr. Schuester, and Coach Sylvester. He couldn't help but notice that while every person in the glee club, even the midget-y Irish kid was there, there were no signs of the cheerleaders who had claimed to be Quinn's friends; maybe Schue was right after all and they were like a family. He watched as Mike held Tina tight to his chest and Finn had picked Rachel up and pulled her into his lap so that he could hold her better, and he felt a pang of guilt; even Evans had reached out a grabbed Mercedes' hand. Puck tried to remember the last time he had genuinely comforted Quinn, been there for her when she really needed him; he was a lousy excuse for a man, just like his father. He didn't know where his sudden self-loathing came from, but he knew he hated it; he was supposed to be a badass not some wimp who hated himself.

"I'm looking for the family of Quinn Fabray." Everyone looked up at once, and Puck rushed passed everyone, nearly knocking Quinn's mother aside.

"How is she?" The doctor seemed surprised that it was not Quinn's mother asking. "Come on, doc, how is she?"

"She's stable and resting; we've got her heavily sedated for the time being." Before Puck could interrupt, the doctor continued, his words more terrifying than Puck wanted to admit. "Her injuries are severe, and it will take time for her to heal; she will need time and intense rehabilitative therapy if she is to recover."

"Can we see her?" It was Rachel's voice, quiet and shaking.

"I'm very sorry, but we can only allow family back at this point." Puck swore under his breath. "Its hospital policy, son; it can't be helped."

"You've got to let me in there. You don't understand." But the doctor shook his head.

_ii._

He slept in the waiting room, long after everyone eventually went home because the hospital staff wouldn't allow them to stay no matter how many diva fits Rachel through or how many times Santana threatened to go all Lima Heights on them. No amount of coffee kept him awake, and his dreams were filled with the screeching sound of metal hitting metal and images of funerals; when he was jolted awake the first time he was shaking and sweating because the dream had been so damned real. He was standing at the intersection watching a truck slam into Quinn's car, and he couldn't do anything about it; the scene kept repeating itself, and he was completely powerless to stop the cycle. Each time it happened, things changed just a little, until he was sitting in the car with her, watching the door crush in on her with the weight of the truck. After that nightmare there was no getting back to sleep.

It was nowhere near visiting hours, but he had no desire to wait four more hours for them to let him see Quinn; the halls were practically empty and silent, except for the sound of beeping machines, and he slipped down to room 312 without anyone stopping him. He'd seen enough hospital scenes to know what to expect; his mom watched those stupid soap operas, and someone was always in the hospital. Plus when he was too bored to sleep, and there was nothing else to do he watched that channel with all the medical shows. But nothing prepared him for seeing Quinn Fabray attached to beeping machines, her body covered in cuts and bruises; she looked like she was sleeping peacefully, but he knew she was sedated because otherwise her injuries would hurt like hell. The room was empty except for her, and he wondered when her mom had left; it kind of pissed him off that she was left all alone in that room and not even her mom had stayed with her.

"Hey, Q," he tried to keep his voice soft and even, and the way it cracked surprised him. "Getting hit by a truck is a hell of a way to get my attention. Wouldn't it have been easier to just talk to me?"

He knew she wasn't going to respond; they had enough drugs pumping through her system to keep her knocked out and pain free, but he hoped that maybe she sort of knew he was there. There were so many things that he wanted to say to her, but he sucked with words; it was probably part of why they were so screwed up in the first place. He didn't even know how to tell her he loved her except when she said it first after Beth was born, and he hadn't been able to make it stick after they gave her to Shelby; it was like he was afraid that without the baby there was nothing holding them together, no matter what he felt about her.

"Listen, Q, I know I suck at this; I'm worse than Hudson when it comes to saying the right thing, but seeing you like this—it's fucked up, Q." He knew how she felt about cussing, but it wasn't like she was going to fight with him about it. "You're supposed to be smart enough not to text and drive, and Rachel thinks it's her fault. Everyone's messed up over this; even Santana's been crying, and she only shows emotion for Brittany. I keep—Look Q, why'd you have to do a stupid thing like get hit by a truck anyway? You could've gotten killed or something, and if that happened I don't know—it would really suck because then I wouldn't have you here, and I'm totally not done being yelled at. We're not done, Q; so you can't leave me."

He reached for her hand, gently lacing her delicate slender fingers with his much rougher ones, and he was glad that no one was there to see the tears that stung his eyes; no one would be able see him crying over a woman, because Quinn wasn't just a girl, and that meant that he wouldn't have to explain it to anyone. Noah Puckerman was supposed to be a bad ass; he was supposed to be strong and not show weakness and fear, but damn it if seeing her there didn't scare the living hell out of him. She was supposed to be stronger than this, or at least that was what he believed; she had to get through this and be ok again because he couldn't do this without her anymore. He'd tried doing it without her and failed, which probably meant that he was royally fucked. He'd laughed at Finn for wanting to settle down and marry Rachel because commitment was for wusses and idiots, but maybe Stretch had the right idea after all. Not that he would tell him that.

"Look, I realize that this might be the chicken shit way of do this because you can't talk back right now, but you got to know how hard it is for me to talk about feelings and shit, Q; it'll be easier this way cause I've got a lot to say." He thought he felt her squeeze his hand, but he was pretty sure that he was just imagining it. "I'm sorry, Q; I'm sorry that I apparently suck. I shouldn't have left you; I got you knocked up, and then after Beth was born I left. I'm no better than my dad; I'm the same asshole he was, and I'm sorry."

He'd never apologized this much without the prospect of getting laid as the catalyst, and here he was saying he was sorry so many times that the words might have lost their meaning. Except that he meant every word and he'd say them until he was blue in the face if that's what it took to make things right. Everyone acted like he had no heart, like he was some sex machine who didn't feel anything at all, but he did feel; he felt a shit ton of things about Quinn Fabray, and it hurt more than he'd ever admit.

"I suck a feelings and talking and shit, and I'm even worse at honesty. I know I've been a shitty excuse for a—whatever I was supposed to be, but it's not like I had the greatest examples or anything. I'm not like Hudson, Q; he's all disgusting and showy about his emotions and shit, especially when it comes to Rachel. I can't do that; I'm not that guy, and I'm sorry." He was embarrassed by the way his voice cracked, and he was glad that their only audience was some beeping machines. "But I do actually—you know, love you; I just suck at showing it. When I thought, even for a second, that you might be gone, I freaked out; I don't want to lose you, Quinn. I can't lose you. I'm supposed to be a badass, but I can't be that without you anymore. I don't want to screw around anymore; I can fuck every cheerleader and sorority chick from here to Cincinnati, and it wouldn't make up for not having you."

"Puckerman?" It was pathetic the way he practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice, and when he looked down, he could see her eyes fluttering open. "What are you doing here?"

"How long have you been awake?" He ran a nervous hand over his mohawk, trying not to seem like he was worried. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Just something about feelings and not wanting sleep around anymore," she offered him a weak smile. "Did you mean all that?"

"Maybe I did, Q; you scared the hell out of me." She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, suddenly wondering what was going to happen next. "You look like hell, hot stuff; I hope you know that."

"I love you too, Noah." He wasn't prepared for the way those words would make him feel, and he leaned forward to kiss her forehead, carefully avoiding a nasty looking bruise.


End file.
